


Of Dripping weeds and Black Ribbons

by LauraRose



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, James Bond - Ian Fleming, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alec wants to blow the lot up, Danger, Empath, Fluff, Ghosts, Horror, James has a learning curve, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Q knows more then he lets on, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Spirits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4494108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraRose/pseuds/LauraRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a mission gone wrong across the globe, something gets brought back to MI6 and released into the building. Something which defies every explanation and reason, and doesn't die, no matter how many bullets you put into it.</p><p>Enter Q, who may not know what it is, but knows that he is the only one that has a shot of stopping it. Can James keep him safe? Can Q save them all, before its too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to my wonderful beta who told me not to delete it, and just wait a few days. xphil98197, you rock!

The scream was blood curdling as he ran through the woods. He threw a glance back over his shoulder, looking for the pursuers that he knew were close, but he could not see. His comrades' had fallen, and had joined the great hunt. Now the hunter had become the hunted, and he was running for more than his life, he was running for his soul, running for his sanity. Running from damnation to death.

 

Half out of his mind with fear, he wondered if they would let him take his own life. He would rather put a bullet in his brain then allow them to take him. He had seen what they had done to the others, seen what they had become and now they took up the chase. The agent shuddered.

 

The Veiled.

 

Everyone knew what happened to those who fell by the Veiled, or so the locals said. Everyone child was told that if they did not behave, then the Veiled would get them. The spirits would come out at night and get them, dragging them screaming into the woods. Since time began, every mother in the area had used the horrors to make their children behave. Every campfire story whispered of the endless spirits that haunted the Hoia Baciu Forest, hungry to expand their ranks, feeding off the lost souls that were unfortunate enough to wander, lost, into the woods.

 

He had been one of them, an agent on a training exercise in a new area. After the terror threats that the world faced on a daily basis, MI6 was making sure that its agents were better trained, harder and faster. They had to be the best of the best, if they were to protect Queen and country.

 

The task had been simple enough. A map, a compass, a tent and basic food supplies. The goal? Get from A to B, through the forest. They were told that although the agency was new to the area, they were told that people had been in camping in these woods for years.

 

They lied.

 

The agent had been one of five who had gone deep into the forest. They had spent a night or two in town, ready to prepare and the locals had begged them not to go into the forest. It was dangerous, they said.

 

The agents laughed. Danger? They were MI6 agents in training, danger was not in their vocabulary.

 

But then, three days into the hike, something had happened. The equipment had started to fail, and as they continued forwards, even the compass began to spin obscurely as if it could not find north. One compas, they could have done without… but all seven seemingly spinning out of control? At first they did not realise, and they started to drift east, deep into the heart of the forest. 

Since when does a compass draw them east? 

 

It was late at night when they came to the dead zone, and decided that they needed to stop and camp for the night. The dead zone was circular area where nothing lived. A twenty five foot circle where the lush growth just seemed to stop. It was as if someone had cut a hole out the forest. The agent went a little way into the woods to relieve himself. On his way back, ha realised that something was… wrong.The forest was silent. The sounds of birds had vanished, the crickets had fallen silent. The mosquitoes that had been a persistent nuisance were… gone. It was instinct more than anything that told him to get back and get back now. He started to run, shouting the names of his companions as he went, and promptly fell over a treeroute and into the clearing. 

 

Empty, save for the equipment, the sleeping rolls and the beginnings of the fire that was already dying through lack of attention. Deserted.

 

No sign of blood, no sign of struggle.

 

Footprints just stopped as if  the person had simply ceased to exist. One breath they were there, then they were just… gone.

 

That was two days ago. Now, the agent ran, his foots tripping over tree routes that seemed to reach up for him as he went, snarling around his ankles, desperate to slow him down. He sprawled forwards, his leather gloved hands landing in the mud. It splashed up into his eyes and he wiped it away furiously. Already, he was scrambling to his feet, trying to run, desperate to keep moving. Then he stopped.

 

The forest was silent. Even the bitter wind which made the trees whip back and forth made not a sound. No owls hooted, there was no creek of wood.

 

Silence. Endless, deafening silence.

 

The agent felt his bladder loosen, and he tripped over again. The screams of horror that came from his frozen lips fell on deaf ears, as he tried to run. A burst of adrenaline made him get up, made him move and he felt himself flea. As he put distance between him and the hunters, the sound began to return to his ears.

 

His footfalls, the gasping of his laboured breathing. Sounds. Life, noise was returning to the forest as if it was sprung back from the dead. The agent slowed to try and catch his breath again… He needed to get out of this forest and he really did not care where he landed… somewhere with a phone and fo-. 

 

The attack came from the left. 

 

The agent whipped around to see John Winkle standing there, John who had laughed with him when he they had been told that this place was haunted… John, whose dark eyes were opened wide, white as the driven snow… The agent opened his mouth, and screamed as the creature tore into him… It tore his soul from his body, shredded his very existence into a thousand shards… and he was no more… 

 

Instead, something else slipped into his body.

 

The scene changed and he walked through the hallways of MI6. The building was in lockdown, he could tell by the strange orange lighting, the way it rippled as if alarms were going off… but he could not hear the alarms. 

 

“Bond?” he called softly. The effort felt like he was screaming, but the word was barely audible to his own ears. He moved down now, down into Research and Development, where the people who worked for him spend their days. His world was full of pops and bangs and the occasional badly burnt tech who got in the way when showing an agent how to use the latest weapons. 

 

Empty. All of them gone. 

 

Where? He did not know, all he knew was that he had to move, he had to find him before it was too late… before they lost all of them. This was a war that only he knew how to win, and not enough training in the world could prepare them for what happened. 

 

Thats when he heard the crash as something lurched in the shadows. He spun and raised the torch into the gloom as his mind frantically raced. What was over there? Gas tanks… they did not move on there own, but if something had come out of the access panel in the floor… or someone? 

 

Where the hell was Bond?

 

“007?” He called and moved forwards again, slowly. His hands brushed over the table and he picked up the small handgun that was assembled there, even though guns were useless against what they faced. 

 

He rounded the large tanks of gas, and saw a familiar back, the front on the floor. The hair was blonde, closely cropped, and the suit was perfectly immaculate, well fitting, tailored grey and black. 

 

“Bond!” He dropped the gun, and rolled the blonde over, noting the gasps and palish grey colour of his skin… Those blue eyes opened, and they got brighter and brighter, as he got more and more pale. 

 

“James, listen to me! Its Q! You need to fight it!” He bellowed bit it was no use as Bond’s mouth opened and an unearthly wail left it, chilling him to the bone. “James, fight it!” He shouted over the wailing and he screeched as that hand, as cold as death, reached for him.

  
  


The young man who was Quartermaster of MI6 woke, thrashing, kicking blankets off, and in the twists, promptly fell out of bed. The air left his lungs in a rush and for a moment, he just lay there, dazed. The cats, one ginger striped, another tortoiseshell leapt up during the frantic movement, the indignant meows echoing through his tiny apartment as they went straight to the kitchen, asking for food. 

 

Slowly, he sat up and pulled himself back up, only to flop down on the edge of the bed. Pulling his glasses on, Q glanced at the clock… It was five in the morning. Five in the fucking morning. He had rolled in at One after guiding double-oh three around Paris for a hit, and it had taken him an hour to unwind, read a few pages of his book whilst eating leftover pasta, quickly shower and roll into bed. 

 

Less then three hours later, he was awake again after a horrid dream that left him shaken to the core. His body was drenched in a cold sweat and he raked a hand through his hair. His limbs trembled and after a moment, he stood. 

 

Q staggered to the kitchen and slapped the light on his wake - it took three attempts and the sudden blare of fluorescent light made him hiss. 

 

“Cats, move,” he growled as he waded through the furry bodies to the fridge. He shouldn’t take it out on the cats, they knew him and they were company that did not make his head feel like it was about to split in half. 

 

He opened the door and pulled out the carton of orange juice that was inside, gulping down several mouthfuls. He was thirsty, as if he had not had anything to drink in a weak and as there was no chance of him getting any more sleep tonight, he may as well start with breakfast. 

 

Once the thirst was quenched just a little, he set down the juice back and flicked on the kettle. His limbs shook a little and he glanced at the cupboard where he knew a bottle of red wine was behind the door. He could almost imagine it calling his name. A small glass wouldn’t hurt… would it?

 

No, he had been down that route before. 

 

In the end he settled for a pot of tea. He dragged his duvet down from his bed and made a nest on the sofa. Frodo and Sam came to join him and he pulled open his laptop. He opened a search through the MI6 files and typed in three words. 

 

Hoia Baciu Forest

 

The information that he pulled up made him give up on the tea and go back for the red wine. 

 

Fuck it, he needed it. 


	2. Chapter One

All Bond could hear as he stepped through the doorway was the sound of his footsteps, soft on the metallic floor and the rushing of blood in his ears as adrenaline flooded his system with the simple human reflex. Fight or flight. Fight to the death or flee for your life. For most humans, the latter was the more frequented option. For 007, however, the latter was there as a second option.

 

He moved through the complex with quick gentle movements, tuning into every doorway with the gun in his hands, arm stretched out, ready to fire as whatever came next. There was, however, nothing... No one.

 

"Keep going, 007," said a soft, female voice in his ear. Bond blinked and for the first time, actually seemed to be aware of what he was doing, actually being present in the room instead of on autopilot.

 

"R?" he asked as they came to a catwalk, that seemed very high up - he could just make out the tops of tanks below him and he frowned. He was sure he had not climbed up  that many stairs, had he?

 

"Why were you expecting, the tooth fairy?" said a dry, bored voice in his ear.

 

James was about to shoot something back when there was the sound of someone running, boots falling heavy on metal. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and someone else's momentum pushed him forwards, into the rails of the cat walk. They slammed into his thighs, and Bond twisted to disrupt the force that would send him head over heals into the blackness below.

 

With a grunt, he slammed his elbow into the gut of his assailant, knocking the wind out of him in a rush, and then brought his fist up high, breaking his nose.  Wound, do not kill.  Mallory's words ran through his head like a mantra, and instead of crushing the man's windpipe, he brought the heel of his palm into his temple.

 

The man collapsed at Bond's feet and he stepped over the body, and paused to straighten his tie before he moved on.

 

"Where is Q?" Bond asked curiously as he moved across the catwalk. R, like all the other handlers, knew to go silent when the sounds of violence came across the microphone. No one wanted to be the reason that an agent died because they were distracted. He listened to R take a deep breath.

 

"He is busy."

 

Bond knew instantly that she was lying. It was the slightest hesitation in her voice, the shift of the speech that sent the warning lights going in Bond's mind.

 

"Isn't he supposed to be handling this?" Bond probed carefully.

 

He had to grin when he heard the exasperated sigh coming from the woman. He could just picture her face at the computer, glaring at the CCTV footage that she was undoubtedly watching.  

"This may shock you, 007," She said down the line scathingly, and he felt his grin widen, "The world does not revolve around you. Whatever the Quartermaster is doing is none of your bloody business and you need to take the second left - no your other left..."

 

Bond really could not help himself, teasing the techs in Q branch came far too easily. He enjoyed watching them get flustered when he walked in, laughed with the others when someone blushed and dropped whatever they were working on. It was almost a sport to the double-ohs, who were not known to be nice people.

 

There was just the one but that he had yet to crack. The tea drinking, cardigan wearing riddle wrapped in an enigma who was the Quartermaster. Bond was... curious about him, and that did not bode well for the man. 

 

It was the little things that had caught his attention. The way the voice was always calm no matter how many times Bond had been hit, how many people were coming to kill him, and yet that sarcastic, intelligent voice was always ready with an exasperated sigh and the requisite paperwork when he returned to explain how he had lost another gun (although none of his reasons had been as elaborate or as ridiculous as the Komodo dragon.) Q intrigued him.

 

“R, I seem to get the feeling that you do not like me much,” Bond purred in his most salacious, flirtatious voice, knowing full well that R was absolutely not interested in him, in any way, shape or form. 

 

“You would be very muc-” R’s annoyed voice was cut off by Mallory’s who was also watching this, along with half MI6. 

 

“R, ignore him. He is baiting you. Bond, stop flirting and do your job,” the clipped voice said and Bond resisted the urge to roll his eyes. M was such a kill joy and had yet to realise that with the double-ohs, you held the reigns rather loose and let them do it there way. 

 

Especially 007. 

 

He moved through another doorway, which swung open a little in a breeze that came from nowhere. Offices? Yes, he could just make out a computer, and those horrid little cubicles. 

 

“R, can yo-” He was cut off as something metalic came out the darkness and smacked him in the back of the skull. Bond sprawled forwards, and the world lurched. For a moment, he felt as if he was about to lose his breakfast but managed to hold onto it. He didn’t hold onto his gun, however and it clattered away in the gloom. The bar swung down again at his skull and he threw up a forearm to block the blow, and he kicked out, catching him in the shin. 

 

His assailant stepped back, and Bond rose, aiming a kick for the man's stomach. The kick was sidestepped easily and a punch was thrown at Bond, who did not dodge it in time and it connected to his jaw with force. Bond moved with it, turning his head so that it moved with the blow. 

 

His fingers curled around a back of a chair, he lifted it and swung it over his head, smacking the man in the back of the head with it, the plastic shattering across his back. The man, dressed all in black let out a string of Russian, a most charming selection of words that would make a sailor blush and Bond froze. 

 

He  knew that voice. 

 

Moving forward, he slipped two fingers under chin of the balaclava and pulled the material up over the man's head. A shaggy blonde greeted him with a charming smile, sparkling with something like mischief and feigned hurt. 

 

“Aren’t you supposed to at least to pretend to kill me?” Drawled Alec Trevelyan. Bond felt himself grin. 

 

“You bastard, when did you get back?” James asked and offered him a hand to haul him to his feet. Alec took it and stood up, brushing himself off. 

 

“Last night. They said you were on a training run and I thought I would drop in, say hi… which reminds me,” his fingers went to his ear lightly, touching the ear piece that he wore. 

 

“Tanner, you might want to end the simulation now,” he called. Bond could hear R’s exasperated sigh on the end of his line, and pulled it out before she could start grilling him on the importance of of keeping up with his training. 

 

The flood lights went on in the building and they turned and went back to the catwalk together. Glancing over the edge, the lights illuminated the crash mats below. 

 

“I knew we shouldn't have put you in there, 006,” said Tanner’s voice over the loudspeaker. The double-ohs ignored him. 

 

“How was China? I heard you had to do some negotiating… with C4?” Bond asked as they back tracked through the rooms which were set up like a generic base, complete with the tops of silos. 

 

Alec shrugged, noncommittally.

 

“I like negotiating with C4. Lunch? With beer?” 

 

“Hell yes.”

 

…

 

With what could only be described as a raging hangover, Q walked into his department that morning, his eyes narrowed, squinting against the bright lights. One glass… he had one glass and he felt like he had a marching band dancing through his head. Of course he knew it was the effects of the lack of sleep, the dream and the stress levels that culminated into the monstrosity that crashed in his skull, but blaming a glass of wine seemed far more logical than saying that his headache was caused by a potentially prophetic dream. He prayed to any deity that was listening that it was not.

 

He had not had one of those in a long time. Why the fuck had they started again now?

 

The quartermaster was born with a gift. Ever since he was a child, he had seen… things. They were always known as things to him, for they defied logical explanation. Beings with wings? Creatures made of shadows? How did a child explain that to those who cared for him?

 

He couldn’t go to nursery because when the other children cried, he  felt their pain, as if it was his own. He didn’t like the teacher because she treated him like he was stupid and he could see all the colours around her. Swirling whorles of pinks and greens, the soft colours of love, kindness and nurturing. The boy who would become Quartermaster hated it. 

 

When he stormed into Q branch at lunch time, people took one look at him and then glanced away. Q had taken over the leadership of the department with ease and skill, and easy manner and a kindness that did not come easily in their profession… but they all knew that some days, it was just best to leave Q alone. 

 

“Tea and no human contact,” snapped Q as he stalked into his office and shut the door with far more force than was necessary, It closed with a resounding thud and he twitched as the sound went through his skull.

 

He dumped his bag on route and flopped into his chair, leaning back in it a little. He flicked his work station on, the green light blinked on and the fan began to whir. Taking his glasses off and setting them on the keyboard, Q leant back into the chair, and used his feet to rock himself a little as he massaged his temples. 

 

“Bad night?” said a soft, female voice and Q felt himself smile. 

 

“It figures that they would send you here, R,” he replied and glanced up at the woman. A few years older than himself, R was middle aged with close cropped dark hair, bright eyes and a smile that had melted many people. She was also the only person in England who knew what he was, what he could do and did not judge him for it. For that, he would be eternally grateful. 

 

Not that he would have ever admitted it to her, but she had confronted him about it when they very first met.

 

“Of course,” She said as she strode around his desk, setting down a mug of tea, in his favorite mug in front of him. “It only makes sense that if our fearless leader is in a state, then you send his number two tackle him before heads start to roll!”

 

R dropped into the seat opposite him with far more grace then he ever managed. Taking a fortifying sip of tea, he put his glasses back on and his eyes roamed around the coloured that danced around her head. The sharp yellow of intelligence, the deep orange of inner strength and self awareness that so many of his techs lacked and there was also something new… a soft, rose pink and he felt himself grin. 

 

R was crushing on someone. 

 

“The only head that will be rolling is 003,” Replied Q tartly as he took another sip of the liquid. “What did I miss?” he added, leaning back in his chair. He was perfectly entitled to take the morning off when he had been up half the night, but he always felt guilt for it. 

 

“Well, 003 is on the Eurostar home. 006 also arrived home from China last night, and you missed 007’s run though in the warehouse training,” the last one made Q groan. Of course, he had forgotten that he was supposed to be running coms for that. 

 

“He wasn’t happy when it was my voice that spoke to him,” she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Tanner also sent in 006 dressed up, complete with balaclava, and a crow bar! I think those two just like to beat each other up. They were a sight to behold while fighting but Bond smashed a chair over his head and then seemed to figure out who he was. He ripped the mask off and the last I heard was that the pair were headed to the pub for lunch, having cut off the training exercise,” she said and shook her head irritably. 

 

“They’re double-ohs, R,” he said with tired affection, “which means that a horde of puppies and toddlers is easier to deal with,” and R waved a dismissive hand. Double-ohs or not, they should really take the exercises seriously. With the world in the state that it was in, he had to agree with her in part. 

 

“So, what kept you?” She asked. Of course, she always got to the point in the end. 

 

Slowly, Q began to tell her about the dream that he had. The dream of the agent, one he was sure that he recognised, being pursued through the forest. He explained the death, and the pain that he had felt at the death and then he was him again, wandering through MI6 and how they were here, how they killed 007.

 

“So I pulled up the files and realised that there was a group in Hoia Baciu Forest, R. They are camping in the fucking haunted forest!. I tried to contact them and then left messages for the expedition leaders, the ones who are supposed to meet the rookies at the finish, but I just…” He shook his head and R interrupted him. 

 

“Q, your wide open again. You really need to learn to slow it down and shut it down,” R said, looking him up and down with a critical eye. “Are you sure that you won’t let me help? At least come to our circle, next time the word doesn’t require your immediate attention?” 

 

Q smiled ruefully and shook his head. Accepting that kind of help would mean that he could no longer deal with what he saw on his own, and that would mean that he had to accept that he was, in fact, a very different kind of human being. 

 

Not just the cardigan wearing, computer loving kind who had a  small obsession with tea. Speaking of, he took another mouthful of it. Yes, this was what he had needed, not that red wine. 

 

He was ignoring the fact that he had put the bottle back in the cupboard instead of tipping it down drain like he should have done. Instead, it was home and waiting for im and the rest should hopefully give him the edge to get some sleep tonight. 

 

“You know I can’t, R,” he said gently. R was a little too much into the new age mumbo jumbo for him, and it pissed him off. She had lent him a selection of books that had taught him a lot, and it was a fascinating study… but any more than that… No. Psych would have a field day if they saw what he was reading. 

 

At least this way, he could pretend that he was vaguely normal. Denial… It made their love so much easier. 

 

“How is the wine working out for you?” R asked, not missing a beat and like an idiot, Q walked right into it. 

 

“Fine, then- Shit!” He scowled at her and she returned a smug look back. 

 

“Q, I warned you that things like alcohol and food are ways of blocking it out, but you're too sensitive and all they will do is numb what you pick up,” she said and watched as Q folded his arms like a petulant child. R rolled her eyes. “Q, you're a Clairsentient. Alcohol is going to cause problems - what happens when it doesn’t shut them out? It may work alright for the Clairvoyance but I know that it does not work for the ”

 

“They have worked fine for years, R. Don’t you have work to do?” He asked, his words sharp. He felt the stab, the pain in her chest as his harsh words hurt her, how they cut deep into her. His fingers gripped the mug, so tight that his knuckles went white. 

 

With a flourish, she stood and she stalked out, of the little room. Q watched her go, and he should have called her back, should have apologised, but no… His mouth opened but his pride stopped the words from coming to his lips. 

 

Christ, he was an idiot. He knew that. He knew that he should go and apologize to her because she had his best interests at heart. 

 

He took a sip of his tea and loaded up the codes for a new project that he was working on, something to get his teeth into whilst he finished his almost perfect cup of tea. 

 

After all, computers did not feel. They did not have emotions, and they worked on a set of principles that Q could understand, that Q could control. 

 

…

 

“So, have you asked him out yet?” Alec asked James as he cut into his steak, medium rare with a peppercorn sauce. James damn near spat his beer at the question, which was addressed to him as casually as one would ask about the weather. 

 

“What?” he asked, sounding a little floored by it. Alec just grinned at him. The smug bastard. 

 

“You  like him. Q, I mean,” Alec teased and James scowled at him. 

 

“Alec, I know you are getting on a bit, but we should probably get you tested, make sure that the old grey matter is still wor-” But Alec was pulling out his phone. 

 

“London is really boring,” he read out a text that James had sent. “London is really boring but Q is making a new car for me.”

 

“Alec, shu-”

 

“I have spent the day in R and D, helping Q test out the new biometric weapons, seeing if I can break them… Apparently Q branch likes me for breakage testing - I had a special request!”

 

And so the message went on, and Bond eventually held up his hands in defeat. It was that or punching Alex, and considering the back of his skull was throbbing, he felt that punching him would be well deserved.

“Alright, alright, I like him. What’s your point?” James said petulantly, his arms crossing in front of his chest. 

 

“Ask him to dinner and screw him into the seat of your car,” Alec said as he raised a hand, calling the bartender over. “Scotch and Vodka, please, hold the ice… make it a double.”

 

James was glaring murder at the remains of his dinner as the drinks came over.

 

“Alec, I can’t,” James said slowly and 006 rolled his eyes. Here came the excuses. 

 

“He is my superior, not to mention a friend - at least I think he is one,” Bond hoped that he was one. He liked Q, he found the young man fascinating in a way that few people fascinated him these days. The human race was a virus on the earth, or so Bond felt. They were destructive, immature, and hell bent on destroying themselves and everyone in it. 

 

Bond had no delusions, he was as much to blame as the terrorists and the dictators that he killed, but he tried to believe that he was doing something good. If he killed these people first, then people who could not defend themselves could not get hurt. 

 

It hardly worked, but occasionally it allowed him to scrape through a night, it kept the ghosts at bay. James accepted the Scotch with a nod to the barmaid and finished the rest of his meal in a brooding silence.

 

Then there was Q, with his dowdy dress sense and the sharp wit that made Bond grin just thinking about it. Bond did not know how that young man did his job, listening to agents fight for their queen and country, fight for their lives, whilst always remaining calm. Providing them information, directions and an escape route when necessary. How did it he do it, knowing that he could not help and any moment that he might have to someone bleed to death?

 

Alec sighed which snapped James out of his thoughts. 

 

“Well, if he is that good, may I take a shot? I wouldn’t mind tapping that!”

 

“Alec!” James was on his feet and looming threateningly over him, and Alec laughed. “I’m sorry, but I had to say something to get you on your feet! Drink your Scotch and then lets go have a chat with Q, eh?” 

 

James downed the Scotch in three large gulps and set the crystal glass down on the table beside their finished meals, and Alec frog marched James back to MI6. 

 

…

 

Q set down the mug of coffee by R’s desk, in her very own scrabble mug - with the letter Z. She looked up at him, her eyes hard but questioning. 

 

“R is only worth one point, Z is ten,” he said very quietly and he felt himself relax a little as he felt her steal walls soften just a bit. 

 

“You’re an arse sometimes, Q, you know that?” She asked as she took a sip of the milky, frothy liquid. Q grinned, wickedly, nodding. “Apology accepted. Now go awa- what is it?” she asked, because Q had suddenly winced, stretching and rubbing the back of his skull. 

 

“I’m not sure… pain in the back of my skull. Is this mine?” The question was too himself as he focused in on that pain, and it faded. No, it wasn’t his, which meant that it belonged to another. 

 

“Found your source,” R nodded over his shoulder as 006 and 007 swanned in, looking annoyingly refreshed considering the former had been on an all night flight and the latter was… well, did he ever look anything but gorgeous? 

 

If R could see it, she would see the clouds of fluffy pink float into his energy field, his aura. 

R wasn’t the only one who was crushing. 

 

He glanced at R, and she was grinning at him like an idiot. Well, shit.

 

Sometimes he really hated those with the third eye. 

 

“Gentleman,” Q said loudly, standing up to peer at him, trying to focus out the blurs around them. “What can I do for you?” he asked, as he moved through the sea of computers, technology and work stations to the two agents. 

 

Alec Trevelyan had wandered off to go annoy someone else, leaving James standing there, leaning against the door frame. Casual and graceful he looked like a male model, especially with the steel, chrome and stone behind him.

 

Bond was nervous, Q could see it. It showed in the slight jitteriness off the colours around him, the occasional twitches of colour. Bond’s were bright, sharp, full of passion, but today they seemed a little muted. Credit where credit was due, though. If it wasn’t for the colours, he would have no idea that Bond was about as jittery as a teenager on a first date. 

 

“Bond? I’m a very busy man, so please don’t waste my time,” Q said sharply, his voice laced with annoyance. 

 

Bond fixed him with a heated gaze, and something warm and liquid pooled in Q. He could see the… want in him. Holy shit, James Bond wanted him? Why? Why him of all people?” 

 

“Have dinner with me tonight,” James asked and it wasn’t a question. 

 

Q blinked owlishly at him, and then something behind Bond’s head caught his attention. An image in his aura, a clock. Sometimes he saw images around people, and right now James had a clock floating by his left ear, counting down. 

 

He had only seen that clock twice before. When his previous cat had to be put down and when his father passed away from a heart attack two years ago. It was the clock that said someone’s days were numbered. Q stared at it. 

 

Tick Tock

  
“Oh, god, no,” Breathed Q 


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There are some slight zombie-ish elements (although there is no actual zombie's...) with Doctor Di, that is not for the squeamish.
> 
> As always, thank you to my lovely beta! You Rock!

Bond blinked. 

 

Then he blinked again, as the phrase sank into him and he actually understood what Q had said… and what the words meant. It meant no.

 

“Oh…” 

 

Out of all the things that Bond had expected, this was not one of them. He had been expecting to be let down gently, maybe laughed at. After all, why would the Quartermaster want anything to do with him? A scarred, horror of a man who was nearly ten years older and not particularly stable at that. He had been  hoping that maybe Q would accept a drink after work, if not dinner… maybe a chance to build on friendship. He had been hoping for that at least. But then again, he had seen enough of the world to know that it did nothing to dwell on desperate dreams. Even so, he had hoped...

 

Instead, Q had responded as if it was the last thing that he would want, the last thing that he could imagine and Bond felt a twisting feeling deep in his gut. It was an unfamiliar sensation, this hurt that he felt and he rubbed at it unconsciously… and suddenly, he was angry. Angry because he had put himself out there, he had taken a leap of faith and been met with horror… and angry at Q because Q was still looking at him, or rather, looking  past him.

 

“Can I ask why?” Growled Bond. Q snapped back to him, blinking as if he had not heard what the agent was saying. The way Q was blinking at him, eyes flicking past him… Bond had the urge to look over his shoulder, to see what Q was seeing. 

 

He spotted Alec out the corner of his eye, across the room, flirting with one of the techs. No, Alec wasn’t being an arse behind his shoulders. although it would not have been the first time that he stood behind Bond, pulling faces, 

 

He was the only one who would dare play that game and Bond knew it.

 

Q floundered at him, and shook his head. He took his glasses off, rubbed his eyes and looked up at Bond, and then  past  him again. 

 

Bond spun on his heel this time, the paranoia getting the better of him. It was true what they said about intelligence agents, paranoia was an art form and Bond was annoyed that he had allowed denial from Q to get the better of him. Even so, the way that Q kept looking past him...

 

He needed to get out of here. 

 

As if Alec could sense his thoughts, he started to make his way towards the door and James held up his hands, the smile on his face forced and uncomfortable. “You know what, it was nothing…” he said with a half smile, and took an awkward step back from Q, who seemed to be coming back a little, as if coming out of shock. 

 

Well, fuck, was he really that bad? 

 

“Bond…” Q’s voice sounded shaky, as if he was not sure what to say. Bond turned on his heel and fell into step behind Alec as they left. James did not stop until they were past security and out into the fresh air of London. 

 

The air was warm with the last dregs of summer. The sun was sinking in the sky now, casting an orange glow over the city. Eventually James stopped on the bridge that lead from Vauxhall and leaned on the railings, looking down at the water below. The Thames rushed past them, the waters dark and polluted. A tour boat went past them, and cameras were turned to the building, blissfully ignorant that this was a building full of people who were little more than weapons of mass destruction.  Bond leant on the rail, his chin in his hands and he was aware of Alec coming up beside him and leaning on the rail. 

 

Ties, thicker than friendship, stronger than brotherhood bound them. Alec was waiting, open if James needed to talk. Sometimes both of them needed someone to not just listen, but to  hear  them. 

 

“Do you ever wonder why we do this?” James asked softly, leaning, craning his neck to the orange sky above. 

 

Alec didn’t answer, Bond continued. 

 

“I mean… why do we fight? Its a war that the world doesn’t know exists. These people,” he waved a hand, indicating all around them, “they will never know the people who die for them on a daily basis. The men and women who get killed to make sure that they can sleep well in their beds at night, and no one… not one person ever says thank you,” The last words came out as a snarl, and Bond blinked. He did not realise he felt that strongly about that. Maybe it was time for him to move on, leave MI6 and disappear into obscurity. 

 

No, he could not and he knew that. The thought was dismissed. 

 

Alec was silent for a time as he pondered what to say. Another tour boat went past and a frantic movement caught his gaze, Bonds too. On it was a young boy, no older then five, six at the most. On his mother's knee, he bounced as he looked up at Alec and James, and laughed excitedly, giving them the most oversellous flapping wave.

 

The two MI6 agents waved back, and were rewarded with a happy grin of innocence, and Alec suddenly knew what to say. 

 

“We do it for him,” Alec said, nodding down to the child as he was taken from their view. 

 

James blinked at him, turning his head to regard him. 

 

“We do it so that children like him get a chance to keep smiling. So that kids like him don’t end up growing up like us. We fall and we get up and we fall and yet, we make ourselves get the fuck up again because someone  has to get up again, and in the end, if we fall… we do it because we are giving others a chance to live. We don’t get that chance, and people assume we don’t want it… but sometimes you have to grasp what you have with both hands.”

 

Bond looked at him and smiled weakly. 

 

“When did you get so fucking sentimental?” 

 

“When you developed a schoolgirl crush on the Quartermaster.”

 

Bond smacked him on the back of the head. 

 

…

 

R smacked Q on the back of his head and he spun around, indignant annoyance written on his features. Double-oh’s be damned, R could throw a smack. He wanted to rub at it, and let her know that he had  felt that one, but he would not giver her the bloody satisfaction.

 

“What was that for?” He asked, aware that his cheeks were bright red and most of Q branch was watching him. He blinked slowly, looking at her. She glowered dangerously.

 

“He asked you out and you gawped like a fish. What’s wrong with you?”

 

With a groan of annoyance, Q grabbed R’s wrist and dragged her into his office. When the steel door was closed and he checked his laptop, making sure that nothing could record or hear what he was about to say, he turned to her. His hair was wild, his eyes wide and R could see the terror that was in them. 

 

She let her irritation fade away. 

 

They were both two very unique people, and that made their lives very hard. R had embraced what she could do, whereas Q had shut it off as best as he could… R stepped forwards and put her hand on his shoulders. No longer was he her boss, but someone who could possibly help him work through what he had seen… whatever it was. She could see from his face that he had seen something. That something had scared him.

 

Q allowed her to steer him into a chair and after a few moments, she was pressing a mug into his hands… He shook and took a mouthful of warm liquid. Grounding, with a single level spoonful of sugar to allow that little bit of comfort that he needed. 

 

“James Bond,” he whispered after a moment, “has a death clock.”

 

R was very much unfazed by this, although the quivering of colours around her told him a very different story. She had absolutely no idea what he was on about. 

 

He sucked in a deep breath and then started to explain to R what he had seen, and what it had meant in every other aspect of his life so far. R listened without judgment, just nodded as Q felt like he was falling apart, or slowly going mad. 

 

Either would be an option right now. 

 

For a long moment, R chewed on her lip and nodded slowly, as she gathered her thoughts. Turning her unblinking green eyes on him, she started to speak. “Q… he is an MI6 agent… You said yourself, that you do not know what will kill him… perhaps that was why you saw that clock, so you could stop it?” she put to him. Q sniffed, and sipped at his tea, letting the warmth soothe him. 

 

He shook his head and she rolled her eyes at him.

 

“Honestly, Q, do you trust me?” 

 

That made him blink slowly and chew on his lip, as if he had to think about the question before he answered it. She glared and he smiled weakly. 

 

“Yes, I trust you. Of course I do.” 

 

She smiled a little. “007 is an idiot… Honestly, trying to guide him through the training exercise… I have five year old nephews who are better behaved. You like him, though… and he likes you. Don’t deny it, Q, I could see that you saw. Every color in him went rose and I could practically see the hearts. You like him… you have done for some time,” The moment that she had paused, Q started to voice his reasons why this was a monumentally bad idea. R raised her hand and he let himself fall silent.

 

“At least go for a drink with him?” 

 

The hairs on the back of Q’s neck rose with those words, as if a finger had curled down his spine. He shivered, and felt himself nod. Yes, he would go for a drink with Bond after work… not because he wanted too, oh no… But because something in him was prodding him, and a little inner voice was whispering in his ear. 

 

Yes… you must...

 

R suddenly smiled wickedly, taking a few years off her face. “At least you know that the sex would be incredible!” 

 

...

 

James was not expecting the phone to vibrate, so much so that when it did, it was only a lifetime of training that stopped him jumping out of his skin and nearly throwing the bloody thing in the murky depths below.

 

Pulling out the phone, he glanced over it and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

 

“He apologizes, and then wants to go for a drink after work?” 

 

Alec clasped him on the back. 

 

“There you go! Go home and change, and for christ sakes, take a shower. You smell like a sewer.”

 

“That’s you, Alec, not me.”

 

…

 

Bill Tanner strode past Eve Moneypenny in the office who was on the phone. She beamed at him, and covered the mouthpiece with the palm of her hand. “Go on through, M is just finishing up the phone call. He says that you are needed right away,” with that, Bill Tanner walked onwards through the door and into the office that the new M now held. 

 

It was very different, and yet seemed exactly the same. As with his predecessor, he had made very few alterations to the place, save for one or two things. The old M had always liked a vase of flowers, whatever was in season, on the cabinet across the room. She said it made her smile a little, no matter how dark her days were. This M had got rid of the flowers, although the vais remained. Instead, he had photographs of his children and wife, and for some reason, a Mickey Mouse clock on his desk. 

 

He had already decided not to ask about the latter.

 

“Yes… thank you… send the body down to the labs, I want a full report… Thank you…” Gareth Mallory set the phone down and then looked up at Tanner with a smile that was polite, if lacking warmth, although it was not unkind. That smile only due to tiredness, little more than that. It took time for the human body to adjust to the shift in working hours and stress levels. 

 

Tanner sat and waited patiently. M rose and began to pace back and fourth. 

 

“Eight days ago,” M began slowly, “We sent a group of trainees to Hoia Baciu in Romania. It was a training exercise, basic survival. A hike through the forest, camping… nothing too strenuous, these were rookies, you understand,” M said and Tanner nodded. M began to pace some more.

 

“Three days into the expedition, I got a message from the trainers who were to meet them at the end, to say that the party had not checked in. They had satellite phones, GPS… Everything that they needed. There instructions were to check in every other day, and call if there was an emergency.” 

 

“Two days ago, I received another message saying that one of the trainees had come stumbling out the forest, muttering all sorts of gibberish about dead children and all sorts. Winkle, his name was, John Winkle. When questioned, he could not say where the others were… but he started to vomit blood and he died on route to hospital,” Mallory’s face twisted into a grimace. 

 

“Is the cause of death known yet?” Tanner asked quietly. 

 

M shook his head, and rubbed the corners of his eyes. 

 

“No. The body is back in England, and is being transported to the labs where some of our doctors can open him up. It’s been transported securely, I am assured that any pathogen or bacteria that they may have contracted will be contained until our labs can determine what it is and how to destroy it.” 

 

Tanner grimaced, knowing what came next. M did not even have to asked, he was already nodding. 

 

“I will fill out the paperwork, sir and speak to Winkle’s family, let them know he is dead… The others sir, are we counting them as missing or deceased.”

 

“Missing, presumed dead.”

 

…

 

That evening, medical was empty save for two bodies. One living, one dead… 

 

Doctor Dianne Hanson would say that she had the worst job in MI6 - Patching up egotistical agents who were careless in their line of work and then came home in bits and pieces… or several bits and pieces as the case sometimes was. She patched them up, oversaw their return to health and then had to spend the next three months listening to them bitching about stitches and plaster casts… until she got sick of them, ordered them off and then sent them out to go and do it all again. 

 

Rince and Repeat.

 

If there was one thing that she had learnt then it was that agents always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and if they engaged their brains, they would spend more time saving the word, and she would spend less time saving their back sides.. 

 

MI6 had made her a cynic. 

 

Once in a while, though, something new and fascinating came through the door… like the body that lay on her examination table. She was in a  full hazmat suit, they had no idea what killed this guy and they had no idea if it could pass to them. Locking the door, more out of habit than anything else, she went to the notes and read through them.

 

“John Winkle…” she read off the notes that her assistant had left by the draw that contained the corpse. “Went camping, came back raving and then promptly died… Nice…” she grimaced at the scene photo, and did not envy the one who had to clean that ambulance.. She sighed and slid the body bag out onto the trolley and wheeled him into the centre of the room under the light. 

  
  


“Okay, John… let's see what happened, shall we?” and with that, she picked up a scalpel began to cut into his sternum.

 

Several hours later, she stared at the body, the collection of organs in kidney bowls and shook her head in wonder. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this body. Save for the loss of blood which would could be accounted by vomiting it, there was nothing wrong with the body as far as she could see. There was no medical reason for him to be lying dead on her table. She shook her head in wonder and went to the computer to reread the test results. 

 

Pathology results had all come back clear, as had her toxicology reports. The only slight anomaly that she had been able to find was that there were slightly elevated levels of Cortisol… which would suggest fear. 

 

Can someone die of fear?

 

Glancing at the clock on her wall, she shook her head. Just after nine in the evening, and although she had no one in for observations, she had a bed with her name on it. 

 

Turning away from the body for a moment, she removed her gloves and put on a second set and turned back towards the body. 

 

Something clanged in the corridor outside and for some reason, it made her jump. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she shiverd. 

 

Going to the door, she unlocked it and stared out, first up and then down… and then up. 

 

Deserted. 

 

“Hello?” Diane called and there was no answer, Of course there was no bloody answer because there was no one in this part of the building. The silence was heavy, oppressive even.

 

“Shit, I need a holiday,” she muttered and locked the door, turning towards the body. 

 

It was behind her.

 

John Winkle stood behind her, head cocked to the side. His eyes were wide, almost violet in the florescent light of the room. His chest was still open, organs still on the trey at the side of the room. She could see into the empty chest cavity, the skin flapping like wind catching curtains… but it was those eyes… They stared, unblinking as his head turned slowly to the side… his lips parted. 

 

Doctor Di, as the agents had nicknamed her, screamed in terror as the body opened his mouth. It appeared as if something was covering the mouth, a shimmering white veil… then it protruded through the mouth and rushed at her. 

 

She screamed, but no one heard it in the silence as  something tore her from her body, and devoured her, leaving two corpses on the floor. 

 

Winkle began to decompose instantly as a violent, translucent mist rose. The lightbulb above them blew and the mist vanished through the gap and into the hallway MI6 hallway beyond… 

 

…

 

“We are having a drink, call me James,” 

 

The Greyhound was a small pub, not too far from MI6 where some of the younger agents liked to hang out… and some of the older agents came to drink and sit in one of the booths, ignoring the looks that they got from the younger agents because his companion was the Quartermaster, who looked decidedly awkward and raised the glass of white wine to his lips and took a grateful sip of it. 

 

Q lowered the glass and felt himself smiled at Bond… James, he corrected himself. The man had swapped from his usual attire to a turtleneck and a pair of dark jeans that hugged the curve of his rear perfectly, and left nothing to the imagination. 

 

Not that Q was looking. Bond just happened to be facing away when they had met, and his eyes wandered. He did not look at the finely sculpted rear that was offset perfectly by tight jeans. 

 

He wasn’t even fooling himself. 

 

“Are you fishing for my name here, Bond?” He replied crisply, but his eyes glittered with amusement. Bond chuckled and inclined his head, a police conceding gesture. 

 

“Damnit, foiled again,” he replied and Q found himself smiling despite himself. When out of the suit, Bond was a charming man, with a mischievous smile that had won him into so many beds, and eyes that had snared so many women, taking them to the height of pleasure and then to their doom. So why was he here now?

 

Q glanced up at the clock that was still by Bond’s head. 

 

Tick Tock

 

“I wanted to apologize for being so… rude when you asked me, James,” he said simply and offered him a slight, somewhat sly smile. “Its not a question that I get asked often…”

 

“Really? That surprises me,” James said curiously. “Most of your department is madly in love with you, haven’t you seen how they gawp when you walk by? Especially in those hideous checkered trousers you wear so often.”

 

Bond’s grimace made Q grin savagely. 

 

“Why, Mr Bond, I had no idea that you were even interested in men.”

 

“I’m bisexual, Q, although I keep it quiet.”

 

Q nodded. He could understand that, Bond was famous for his exploits with women, seducing across the word. Having an interest in men would damage his reputation. 

 

Q took a mouthful of the wine and they fell into easy conversation, Bond could pluck topics that caught his interest, and keep him engaged. He did not talk over Q or talk about himself continuously (as Alec would) but gave Q openings for conversations.

 

After an hour or so, Bond noted that Q seemed… tired. It was a little after nine, and he looked ready for bed. It wasn’t bad for a first… date? Was it a date? Q had not tried to run away too early but the younger man looked as if he was about to fall asleep on his feet. It was a good point to call it a night.. Outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon, but the city still pulsed with the vibrancy of life.

 

“Come on, Q, let me walk you to the station. You look exhausted.”

 

Q let himself be helped up, and smiled. Yes, the clock lingered and yes he had no idea why it lurked… but he could still enjoy himself. 

 

Something cold suddenly clawed its way up his spine, making every fibre on his body stand on end. It was the sense of  wrongness,  and it made him feel sick. He swayed and Bond was at his side, a hand on the small of his back to support him. Q shuddered at the contact.

 

“I…” he said, at Bond’s questioning touch. “Can you drive me home?” 

 

“Of course,” James said, the soft worry in his voice making him flinch. 

 

The barmaid came to clear their glasses and Q blinked… What the fuck? Over her shoulder hung a clock. Slowly, Q swung his head and surveyed the room… every person in the room had a clock hanging over their shoulder. 

 

He was aware that Bond was saying something to him, but Q was not hearing it over the pounding of blood in his ears. Colors danced in front of his eyes, the rainbow hues of life and Q staggered outside. 

 

He staggered into the flow of people moving back and forth, into the stream of people. Clocks… Clocks… They were everywhere, over every person in sight. His senses blew open and he gasped with the sensations, that flooded his body and his mind. The worries and struggles of the city where his and he crumbled to his knees. He could not bare the knowledge and the  pain … 

 

He was aware of Bond beside him, calling his name franticly… but he did not hear…

 

Too much. It was all too much. 

  
Q fainted. 


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long… life got crazy!

_The kitchen was warm, bright and although half of it had all the modern equipment that anyone could want in a kitchen, the other half seemed to be something out of a movie set. There was a large, open fire that crackled away merrily, the warmth and light chasing away the chill from the december air that tried to creep through the cracks. It even had a hook where a large pan… a cauldron could be hung over the flames. Outside the window, sleet pelted the ancient glass, and it sounded like the entire building was about to fall down._

_Or, to the boy, it had once. Now… now he just felt numb._

_Even at five years old, the boy seemed to be scrawny and out of proportion for his age. Wide eyes were set behind large glasses, and those eyes were filled with tears as the young boy looked up at the elderly woman whose lap he sat on. Intelligent eyes, eyes that had seen too much of the world… even at the tender age of five, he had seen far too much of the world. He was haunted._

_“My dear Alex…” She crooned as she rocked the young boy. “You could not have known what would happen to Mummy….” she said and the boy could see the tears in her eyes. Grandma could not cry! Grandma was supposed to bring Mummy back._

_“But… But… I saw it… I dreamed it, Grandma“ He broke into sobs again. She stroked his hair and made soothing noises. He nestled into her neck and breathed in the scent. Something floral… Rose, perhaps. Whatever it was, it was soothing, familiar...He snuggled into her._

_“I know… I know…” She said softly and the young boy opened his eyes, wide and shocked. His mouth opened in a gasp of surprise and she smiled down, a bitter smile. “I know that you see things, Alex… I know that you see them before they happen…”_

_“It's the blessing and the curse of people who have our talents, Alex...Sometimes we do not want to see. I named my daughter as a prophetess, and she named you a prophet… You have the gifts that have ran in our family for generations upon generations, and although they usually pass through the female line, I think that you have been given an extra dose of what we have.”_

_The boy sniffed. He did not want it, whatever this was._

_“I know you do not want to be different, dear,” She said gently, her fingers carding through his hair gently. “No one does… but all you need to remember is that the future is never set in stone… it flows like a river that runs down mountains and across lands… what happens if someone tried to block the river?” She asked softly, looking down at him._

_Those large, haunted eyes blinked slowly. A puzzle… a riddle… he was good at those…_

_“It would… find another path. It would change course… find a better route…”_

_She nodded. “And sometimes, when we see bad things… we have to be the ones that block the river... Now Quartermaster… it's time to wake up…”_

_Wake up…_

 

Slowly, Q began to drift back into consciousness. He was lying flat, he was warm and his legs were raised on pillows. He could feel the scratchy sheet over his thin body, and his glasses were not on his face. He shifted and he felt someone lean in closer to him. The scent of musk and some sort of spice filled his nostrils and he relaxed. It was Bond. It was only Bond. He would know the smell of that man anywhere, and he had been very careful to never let the man get too close… still...

 

It was just one of those evocative things, the sense of smell… and with 007, it always drew his mind to raw, primal, sheet-clawing sex. Maybe Bond’s scent had the effect on all people? Or maybe Q had just hit his head when he fell.

 

Allowing his senses to slowly expand, he became aware of where he was. Information and sensation crashed into his brain like a tsunami and he sat bolt upright, startling the blonde, who seemed fuzzy before his eyes.

 

“Get me the fuck out of medical!” he demanded.

 

“Q,” Bond said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder, and with what seemed like little effort pushed him back down. “Just rest, Q,” he said. Why was he being so nice? Q scowled and fought to sit up again, but the hand on his shoulder tensed… and Q went nowhere.

 

He scowled again.

 

“At least give me my glasses, so I can see where you are and punch you,” grumbled the Quartermaster, which drew a startled laugh from Bond. A hand appeared in his field of vision and he snatched at it, snatched the glasses from them and put them on. Blinking owlishly, he glared at Bond, around the room and then back at Bond, as if he was responsible for what ever he was doing in medical.

 

Then he saw the clock past Bond’s ear and it all came back to him. His eyes closed and then he looked at Bond. He forced himself to breathe. In and out… breathe and then he looked at Bond.

 

“What happened?” He asked slowly. “How the hell did I get here?” He remembered but it, but he wanted James’s take on it.

 

“Don’t you remember?” Bond said, sounding surprised. Q frowned and gestured for Bond to explain. He told Q how he had run from the pub, into the streets… nearly got hit by a bus and then promptly passed out, bashing his head as he did. Q reached behind his head and fingered the lump gently, and winced.

 

So the fact that his senses had gone into complete and utter overdrive wasn't the only reason he was feeling like total shit. He sighed.

 

“I am sorry, Bo-James…” Q said tiredly. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He should never have agreed to the drink, because once again, all he had done was expose what a freak he was to another person. He shivered and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

 

“What are you sorry for?” Bond asked gently.

 

“Passing out in the middle of London?” His words were more than a little bitter and James’s lips lifted into a slight smile, which was… surprising. He narrowed his eyes at James, who shrugged.

 

“Its got to be one of the more dramatic places to have some sort of episode?” James offered weakly, and Q realised, with a sense of mortification, and a strange sense of delight that Bond was… teasing him. James Bond was teasing him over the fact that he had shut down in the middle of the road, gotten drenched and then had to be taken to Medical… and now, James was sitting here beside him.

 

If he had known that all it took was to get Bond to willingly go to medical… Q did not dare finish that thought.

 

Maybe… maybe he could get away with having a bit of fun with Bond?

 

After all, if they were all going to die, he might as well go down and enjoy the ride.

 

…

 

“Eve. Would you go down and see if Dianna has finished up with the body yet, please?” Tanner called to Moneypenny where she sat outside the M’s office. Tanner and M had been inside, talking for over an hour now, and she had to resist the urge to press her ear against the door.

 

She did enjoy knowing the news before everyone else. The perks of her new position.

 

The downside was that she was a secretary. A glorified secretary with a ridiculously high security status and more weapons at home then Q branch. She had been told when she applied for this desk top job that there was a high chance of people wanting to kidnap and torture her for information that she may or may not know.

 

Her tongue flicked over her cyanide tooth thoughtfully. They wouldn’t get a thing from her. Still, she would go down fighting.

 

“She’s not answering her phone again?” Eve asked as she saved the document that she was working on and stifled a yawn. A bunch of new recruits vanishing, one of them confirmed dead was classed as an international incident and she was required to make contact with those who had families. Not that many of them did, but there was all sorts that she had to do with it.

 

Still, it wasn't like anyone in MI6 had a life, was it? It wasn’t like she might have had a date and then was told by her boss that no, instead of the theatre and a meal out afterwards, she was going to be writing to families and then liaising with government officials in Romania to try and work out why there men were missing, and at least one of them dead.

 

“No, of course she is not,” Tanner replied, as if this was something that they would all expect. Eve sighed, stood up and went down stairs. He heals clacked on the floors as she took the stairs down, her black dress hugging her slender figure. Since she had taken up a desk job, she had not put on a pound, and still maintained her strength, fitness and still had one of the best marksman scores in MI6.

 

So when she got to reception and a hand covered her eyes, she did not think. Her hand snatched the little finger and jerked it backward. Her assailant yelled, and she was about to swing her elbow back into his gut when a voice called out.

 

“Eve! Eve, it's me!”

 

She spun, her fist balled, her stance low to see Alec standing there, holding his hand, one finger which was obviously dislocated. She watched as he took the finger, and with a jerk and a huffed curse, popped it back into place. He wiggled it. She scowled.

 

Then she punched him in the arm, hard enough that Alec pulled a face.

 

“You idiot, what the hell are you doing?” She snarled at him, grinding the ball of her foot as if she was resisting the urge to swing and kick him where it would really make him swear… and then her eyes traveled to the white plastic bag that he carried, and then the smell hit her.

 

God, he had brought Chinese. Her stomach rolled in a way that reminded her that she had nothing apart from a protein shake for breakfast, and that had been vile.

 

“You said that you would probably end up being here most of the night… I have paperwork to do…” he held up the bag. “I thought we could make a date of it… I am sure Tanner won’t mind if I actually turn in the paperwork on time…” Alec took a step towards her, and his eyes traveled down her form slowly, and then back up. His hand extended slowly and came to rest on her hip lighty, his thumb brushing over the slinky material gently.

 

“Eve…” he breathed. “You look stunning…”

 

Those words made her relax and she felt herself begin to smile. She leant up on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, ever so lightly, and for a moment, Eve lost herself in that kiss… and then she had to break it far too soon because reality intruded once again.

 

“Well, you should probably get some ice for your finger… I need to get the report from Doctor Di as to how the new recruit died… I should probably check on Q too, while I am here,” she mused and Alec, who had fallen into step beside her, stopped in his tracks, staring at her.

 

“What happened to Q?” Alec asked. “James was with him! Is James okay?”

The affection between the two men, they were like brothers really. Eve smiled in what she hoped was a comforting way.

 

“They are fine, Alec,” she said gently. Alec was an ass and they all knew it, but the love that the man had for James had stretched to her. They had been… not dating, as it were. Spending time together, hanging out… going to the movies, meals out…

 

And if more then one of those times lead to spectacular sex, then he would not complain. Neither of them had used the word dating…

 

Alec had been planning to bring it up.

 

“Alright, down to medical and then lets get some work done… then I want you home and out of that dress!” his eyes were on her form in said dress, raking across her, undressing her with his gaze. Eve punched him in the arm. Again.

 

“Come in, idiot.”

 

…

 

“Follow the light, sir,” the young Doctor said and Q rolled his eyes… but the look from Bond made him behave himself and he followed the penlight, tracking it back and forth… back and forth… and then Q lost his temper.

 

“Oh, for Fuck Sakes! I am fine. I am fine! I am absolutely, one hundred and ten percent fine! Where is Doctor Hanson?” He snapped. He wanted to get out of there, get home and crash in bed with a bottle of wine and the cats, sleep and forget everything that had happened in this day.

 

The colours around the young doctor blurred into a melancholy grey, and he felt a stab of regret. The young man was just trying to do his job… but then Q remembered the bottle of wine and decided that he was justified in being totally pissed off by the whole situation.

 

“I am sorry, sir, but you have a nasty bump on the back of your head,” and Dianna would skin him if he did not make sure that the Quartermaster was fine before sending him home. He did not say those words, but Q could read it in his face.

 

Sometimes, you did not have to be psychic to know what someone was thinking.

 

Thankfully for the sake of the young medic, Bond intervened, putting a hand on his shoulder lightly and smiling at the man.

 

“Is there any sign of concussion?”

 

“No but-”

 

He looked at Q desperately. Bond waited patiently.

 

“He should have someone with him over night… just to make sure that he doesn’t suddenly go down hill,” the medic said, and Bond nodded. “I will stay with him.”

 

“What?” Squeaked Q but Bond was nodding.

 

“He can stay at mine tonight, I can sleep on the couch,” The latter part was only added because the young Doctor had hesitated. He seemed to steal himself and nodded.

 

“That should be fine then, sir, 007… I will just go find Doctor Hanson to sign you out,” He scurried from the room, subjected to Q’s gaze, withering as it was.

 

“Yes, you do that…” He muttered darkly and then turned to Bond, who was laughing quietly, “and you can shut it too!”

 

The Agent held up his hands in mock defense, silenced by Q’s anger… and then promptly burst into laughter again.

 

…

 

“Shouldn't there be lights on?” Alec said softly, and Eve could only nod. They had come down to medical together, and were stopped inside the double doors that lead to operating rooms, and laboratories. Where the post mortems were carried out. Only, they could see that inside the double doors, and he could see there were no lights on.

 

“Maybe one of the fuses blew… Each of the departments are on a separate system… a faulty light switch would only take out the department, not the entire building,” Eve said sagely. After all, considering the amount of times someone tried to blow up MI6, they needed some security measures in place, so that others could help those who were in need without creating more casualties.

 

“Yeah… but why wouldn’t anyone report it?” He said, and Eve glanced at him. Alec was uneasy, and it was that uneasiness in the agent that got her hackles up. She nodded. “Dianna is down here… Hang on…” She vanished around the corridor. Alec heard the sound of a thump and something giving way.

 

When  Eve returned, she was carrying two flashlights and a gun, Alex drew his Makarov Pistol and held the flashlight in the other hand, holding his hand over the other. Eve did the same, and together they pushed through the doorways and into the dark corridor beyond.

 

Two beams of light illuminated there way as the pair went down the corridor together.

 

It was silent. Silent as the grave. Alec glanced back over his shoulder at the door, as if checking that the lights were still on behind him.

 

“Hey…” he said softly and turned back to the door. Eve glanced back, and saw what he saw.

 

On the doorway, there was a large, what seemed to be burn mark against the metal. Eve crouched and touched it. The metal was blackened and warped as if something very hot had passed through it. But it had failed… there was no hole, no mark on the other side.

 

“These doors are steel and cast iron - what the fuck could have done this?” Eve said, and pulled her hand away. There was fine coating of a black dust on her fingertips. She raised it to her nose, sniffed. Nothing. There was no scent.

 

“I have seen most form of combustion, one way or another,” Alec said softly. “Something would have to have been pressed into the metal for a period of time…” he whispered and Eve glanced at him. What was it with humans feeling the need to whisper when they were alone.

 

“In that case,” Eve scowled - she was whispering too. Straightening up, she brushed down her royal blue skirt and brushed back her hair. “In that case, we need to find Di,” she said, speaking loudly. She had to make herself speak up, because there was no reason to whisper… there really wasn’t.

 

She turned and then started down the hallway, Alec had to lengthen his stride to keep up with her as she strode. They tuned the corridor… and stopped.

 

“What the-” Alec whispered.

 

The walls. They were covered in a thick clear goo, that rolled down the walls in globules. Eve wrinkled her nose, but did not touch it. One of the things that she had learnt in MI6 was to never stick your hand in a strange substance.

 

“I don’t like this,” Eve said softly, and carefully walked forwards, making sure that nothing touched the strange substance. She stopped in front of the door, and there was another strange burn. Eve tried the door. Locked. “Dianna?” She knocked on the door loudly, and tried to wiggle the handle again. “Dianna, its Eve… open the door…” she peered through the door, trying to see something through it, shining her torch through the glass as she did.

 

“Eve…” Alec’s torch was down, on the floor. There was something on the floor… a stain… dark brown, that seemed to come from the door, seeping from under it, from the next room.

 

“Stand back,” Alec said and Eve recognized the tone. She stepped back automatically as Alec took aim at the door, at the lock and pulled the trigger.

 

…

 

James looked up suddenly as a sound echoed through the silent MI6 medical at nearly one in the morning. “That was a gunshot,” James growled and he was on his feet, gun in hand. Before Q could say anything, Bond was out the door, chasing the sound. Whatever was. once again, Q was left to sit out. He huffed and sunk back against the bed.

 

“Agents… they are all the same…It's always me that has to sit out of the action…” muttered the man as he allowed himself to sink back into the pillows. He was only being allowed home on the promise that James was to stay with him… and although he was convinced that it was because James wanted to get in his trousers, the agent had been very kind to stay and talk though the hours that he had been sitting here, waiting for people to come and poke him and let him go home.

 

Now there was a gunshot. Q closed his eyes, the headache getting worse as he tried to logically think through what was going on. He was seeing clocks… there was a gun shot in medical. Were they linked? He had the feeling that they were.

 

A chill went down his spine as he looked up at the corridor.

 

It was a strange thing how he needed his glasses to keep the world clear… yet, the non physical word, he could see fine…

 

Something moved down the corridor… It seemed to be slow motion to him… Q licked his lips as tendrils of energy moved… something. He could see a form… a face… A skeletal, feminine face glanced towards him… It turned to look at him slowly. Something wispy covered where its mouth should be… Eyes wide… violet, eyes, terrifying eyes… looking through him, past him… beyond him… into him.

 

With his soul laid bare to this… thing. He could feel it. He could feel its hunger, its need… Although he could not understand on the level that it operated on, he could feel and understand the basic level instincts…. Hunger… need.

 

It was hungry.

 

There was no food in the forest.

 

They had found a new food location, a place where they could hunt, choose their prey.

 

He was hungry… so very hungry...

  
Q started to yell.


End file.
